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by softouches



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, College, Fluff, M/M, also blonde because it suits him too good, and a techie, changbin is a flirt, confused jisung, dark changbin, idk how to tag, kind of, romantic jisung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softouches/pseuds/softouches
Summary: Inspiration was not something foreign to Jisung. Most of the times, the boy doesn’t really have a problem in finding it, coming from movies, books, music, random aesthetic moodboards that he usually sees on social medias. Lyric writing process usually flowed naturally, Jisung coordinating everything on paper in a full, complex picture. And theoretically, he shouldn’t have had problems with this assignment, at least no more than usual. There is just one small and tiny subtlety.Jisung should write a song about love.Or: Jisung deperately needs a muse and Changbin desperately needs Jisung.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118
Collections: things





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**Author's Note:**

> hi, i'm back after a month <3  
> it's nothing much, and basically i just wanted to write a fluffly binsung while i'm working on more complex fic bcs they make me very soft lately, so i hope you enjoy it! have a nice read!

“Seungmin, where do you get inspiration from?”

Jisung hears as Seungmin sighs at the question, obviously too engaged in his own assignment as he’s writing something in his book diligently, highlighting random words with overly bright-couloured marker.

“Jisung,” he looks up from his book, eyes full of tiredness that border with a slight annoyance. “I’m a med student, I don’t need any inspiration while studying,” he mumbles, and makes an attempt to go back to his work.

“I mean, I would need an inspiration to memorize all that,” he gives Seungmin’s book almost a judging glance, as if it is guilty of not giving him a proper answer to his dilemma.

Seungmin, on the other hand, just sighs once again while taking off his glasses. “How exactly you want me to help?” He asks, leaning in slightly over the table. “I know about lyric writing process as much as you know about haematopoiesis.”

“I know that it’s about blood though,” Jisung protest and Seungmin arches an eyebrow at him, obviously intrigued. “You mumble in your sleep,” the boy shrugs and takes a bite of an apple lying nearby on the table. ‘Come & Stay’ is their usual place to work and study, being located not far from the campus, and technically they are not really allowed to bring their own food in the coffee shop.

Yet having friends working there definitely has its benefits.

Seungmin stays silent, but manages to contain a stern gaze. “Sometimes, I wonder, are you really a fool or just want everyone to think so,” the words sound like a tease, but Jisung can feel dead seriousness coming from that.

“It’s my artistic nature,” he huffs, taking yet another bite. “And anyways, you’re my friend, I’m asking for a little help here.”

“A little, yeah,” Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you ask Chan-hyung? He’s definitely more competent than me.”

“I’m kind of scared of him,” Jisung says, almost feeling shivers going down his spine. Chan was nice, great, even. Yet there was something obviously frightening about him, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel a little nauseous every time they talk. “We’re friends, but I’m not asking him.”

Seungmin groans. “What a good logic, Han Jisung.”

“See? And you’re not believing I’m a fool.”

“Should have,” he lets out an exasperated sigh. Seungmin looks around the coffee shop intensively, which indicates that the boy is thinking something through as his fingers thrum on the surface of the table top. “Then google it,” he shoots out.

“Wait, what?” Jisung almost screeches.

“Google, Jisung,” Seungmin snorts. “A web search engine that is designed to carry out web inquires.”

“Are you reciting a Wikipedia now?”

“Jisung,” Seungmin hisses, squinting his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy raises his arms in defense, letting out a small laugh. “But seriously? Just google it?”

Seungmin shrugs. “Why not? Maybe you’ll manage to find something useful, after all. If you’re not capable of talking to human beings.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jisung kicks him slightly under the table but Seungmin just rolls his eyes at that, going back to his book as if nothing had distracted him seconds ago.

Jisung is not a greedy person but he’s envious of that attention span and determination.

Inspiration was not something foreign to Jisung. Most of the times, the boy doesn’t really have a problem in finding it, coming from movies, books, music, random aesthetic moodboards that he usually sees on social medias. Lyric writing process usually flowed naturally, Jisung coordinating everything on paper in a full, complex picture. And theoretically, he shouldn’t have had problems with this assignment, at least no more than usual. There is just one small and tiny subtlety.

Jisung should write a song about love.

And not like he had never experienced that. Jisung is affectionate person after all, capable of loving and cherishing everything, that moves and exists. Han Jisung just doesn’t feel accordingly attached to it, like with inner struggles or the questions of meaning of the life. Love is still something ephemeral to him, unreachable, something capitalized and overused by the essence of overly gullible society.

“You look like you’re going to burst,” Seungmin voice barely cuts through the dense layer of thoughts.

Jisung just rubs on his temples, shutting eyes close. “I think my songs will soon be more like a sociological research paper,” he mutters. “So, google, you say?”

Seungmin huffs, taking out his phone and typing something swiftly against the screen. “ _Ten ways to find needed inspiration,_ ” he reads out loud, with a stone like face. “ _One. Find new surroundings,_ ” he stops for a moment, giving Jisung a ‘I’ve told you not to bother me’ look. “ _The physical space around us has a surprising impact on thought processes. Change your usual working location: being it your desk or your bed. Spending time in a complete unknown surroundings can lead to a surprisingly productive outcome._ ” Seungmin pauses, looking at Jisung over the phone. “So, basically, just leave me alone and go find your inspiration somewhere else.”

Jisung sincerely wonders, which surroundings his own inspiration can possibly occupy.

*

Turns out ‘it’ occupies the library – Jisung can’t even pinpoint what made him go there.

The only strong association Jisung usually had with libraries is quietness and diligence – notions that were complete opposite to him. Therefore, the whole ambiance usually felt forced, tensed, and too immaculate, like life was utterly sucked out of it.

Doesn’t sound like your typical visionary of inspirational place at all.

But somewhere between neverending walls made of books and questioning glares from annoyed students, Jisung sees _him._

Usually, when you think about love at first sight, it is tightly associated with beam of light, or sun, like it suddenly illuminates the whole place making every little thing feel bolder and brighter.

Yet _‘him’_ does not radiate light at all. Jisung would say ‘him’ is a polar opposite.

The boy behind the desk looks small, but something about his built and presence make it seem like he is filling the whole space just with his distinct aura. His clothes are not completely black, but painted in mostly dark colours, making it somehow almost impossible to look away. His face looks a bit softer from round glasses framing it neatly, and his position indicates that he’s obviously engaged in a thinking process, as he looks intensively at the laptop screen in front of him while tapping with a forefinger on his lips.

Stupidly full and attractive lips, so to say.

It’s obviously not a light, or sun, or something flashy and striking. But Jisung is drawn to it, feeling a familiar tug in his chest that pulls him into the boy’s direction.

So without a hesitation he goes in and occupies the chair in front of him.

“Hello!” Jisung almost exclaims and the boy slightly shudders while looking up from the screen, seemingly not even realizing that someone intruded into his personal bubble. “Can I sit here?”

The boy squints, eyes turning into two small clefts as he looks at Jisung strenuously. He slowly looks around the place, gaze tracing along the dozens of tables and shelves behind Jisung’s back. “There are plenty of vacant places.” His voice is quiet, but confident. Kind of husky, making goosebumps appear onto Jisung’s skin. His heart skips a few beats as he tries to maintain a stable eye contact, but the boy is seemingly not that glad of newly acquired company.

Jisung sucks in a breath. “Yeah, but I want to sit here,” he says, smiling as charming as he can. But the boy stays completely emotionless, all the muscles on his faces being still.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” The question doesn’t come out as harsh, but Jisung still feels subtle warning hiding in it. And under usual circumstances Jisung would probably leave, knowing that he obviously is not a wanted company.

But gosh, _his lips._

“You see,” Jisung starts and the boy crosses arms on his chest at that, as if preparing to defend himself. “I have this—uhm—project,” he scratches the back of his head, avoiding the boy’s eyes. “I need to write a song about love and I need inspiration in order to do this.”

“Inspiration,” the boy echoes, any kind of emotion still absent on his face.

Jisung gulps, taking one deep breath yet again. “Yeah, inspiration. I mean, you probably need it to work as well, right?”

The boy snorts, and a small smirk appears on his lips as he talks. “Artists,” he slightly rolls his eyes, and starts clicking on his mouth pad while looking at the laptop screen.

Jisung blinks. “I’m sorry,” he places a hand over heart dramatically. “But what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” the boy replies, not even looking up from the screen. “You all are just too… _overwhelming._ ”

It doesn't sound accusing, but Jisung feels kind of hurt and amazed at the same time. The more he talks to the boy, the more intrigued he becomes, feeling as light tug in his chest becomes tighter and tighter, series of sparks bursting inside. “I’m not overwhelming,” Jisung flinches at the obviousness of a lie. “Well, maybe I am, but I’m just asking you if I can sit here.”

“And for what reason?”

“I need a muse,” Jisung blurts out but closes his eyes shut as soon as the words leave his mouth, lips forming into a thin line.

It is suddenly silent, and Jisung is ready to question his mere existence in this cruel world just when he hears the voice again, smooth and still as calm, as ever. “Did you just call me your muse?”

Jisung releases a relived breath, and opens his eyes. “Kind of?” He suggests cautiously while nibbling on his lower lip nervously.

They stare at each other for a while, and Jisung feels his heart racing, violently beating against his ribcage. “Ridiculous,” the boy mutters quietly and Jisung wants to die once again. “But as long as you don’t bother, go ahead, I guess,” he shrugs and goes back to his laptop.

Jisung opens his mouth to say something else but closes it as soon as he sees how the boy’s features become more distinct and sharp as he gets down to work, with eyes practically sparkling with fervor and interest.

In times like this Jisung regrets that he can’t draw and capture that sight, paint it with pastel shades mixed with dark ones, to emphasize the softness of the features contrasted by the boy’s sharp and stern expressions. The blonde colour of his hair would perfectly—

“Are you just going to stare the whole time?” The boy asks, eyes glossy and still glued to the screen.

Jisung just chuckles at that, the corner of his lips twisting in a light smirk. “Techies,” he sighs, shaking his hair in disbelief, as if he’s deeply disappointed. He stands up from his place and comes closer to the boy, standing behind him and bending over to lean on the back of the chair and look over the boy’s shoulder. Jisung doesn’t see his face, but the slight shudder of the shoulders indicates that he wasn’t prepared to such close intrusion. Jisung looks up at the screen and hums seeing miles and miles of familiar code. “So, you’re not even a proper techie.”

“What?” The boy’s voice raises at the question, and he half-turns to face Jisung.

“It’s html,” Jisung shrugs. “Is it even considered coding language?”

“How would _you_ even know,” the boy mumbles, crossing arms on his chest raising his head slightly to look at Jisung who’s hovering over him.

“I’m a musician, not dumb.”

“I’ve never said you were,” the boy replies, keeping his gaze on Jisung. With the way his mouth opens up slightly and light panic rushes through his eyes, Jisung guesses the boy finally acknowledged their kind of interesting position, faces being just few inches away from each other.

But instead of panicking Jisung oddly enjoys that, feeling the tug in his chest transferring somewhere to the pit of his stomach. It makes the world sparkle in front of his eyes and million of thoughts cross his mind, his hands finally itching from the desire to write again. “What’s your name?” He finally breaks the silence, backing up a little so the boy wouldn’t be intimidated even more. “I’m Han Jisung.”

The boy gulps. “Nice to meet you, Han Jisung,” he says calmly, chest rising up and down as he breathes. “And it’s none of your business,” he turns around and starts typing against his keyboard again. “Besides, I asked you not to bother.”

“And he’s back at it again,” Jisung sing songs and goes back to his initial place, taking out small notebook and a pen from his backpack. “Don’t mind me, will just stare at you for the rest of the evening.”

To that the boy just clicks with his tongue, but still says nothing, so Jisung considers it as a sign of permission and starts scribbling words and sentences quickly. It always fascinates him how random words and ideas can be contemplated into one perfect picture, coming together with the music and the beats, flowing almost naturally. Jisung also can’t help but notice how the boy steals quick glances at him, and smiles, something warm spreading inside of him even more and guiding him through the initial mess on the paper in front of him turning it into something illegible.

Muse, indeed.

The sun slowly hides behind the horizon, and Jisung doesn’t even notice that the lights in the library become duller and dimmer when he feels a gentle pat on his back. “Hey,” the gentle pat turns into a confident grip. “I have to go, but just know that the library is closing in half an hour,” Jisung looks up to see the boy looking at him almost softly. _Almost._ “So, please, don’t get locked.”

“Are you worrying about me?” Jisung asks cheekily, placing his chin on his palm.

The boy snorts. “As if,” he says and throws backpack over his shoulder, seemingly ready to head out.

Jisung just waves meekly, and then rubs his eyes in attempts to wake up or at least identify what time it is. “Changbin.” The name strikes the almost empty library like a thunder.

“Huh?” Jisung cocks his head to the side.

“My name is Changbin,” the boy says and with that turns around, making his way to the exit.

The tug in Jisung’s chest ties into a big heavy knot.

*

“Did you find it?”

“Huh?” Jisung blinks swiftly, coming to senses. It feels more like a dream with the way everything seems to move in slow motion, as if the time is slowing down. But it was always like that when Jisung was too engaged in process of composing, too lost in his own thoughts to cooperate with the real world.

“Your inspiration.” He looks up to meet Seungmin’s eyes as he leans over the table to get Jisung’s attention. “You left café at noon and returned only at midnight and then immediately started bothering with your,” Seungmin gesticulates vividly in attempts to find the correct notion, “equipment. Let it be equipment.”

“Ah, that.” Jisung scratches his forehead with a pen. “Yes. Kind of?”

“Great! What is it?”

Jisung sighs. “Uhm, it’s who. It’s a boy.”

“Jisung, no,” Seungmin says almost in terror, as his eyes visibly widen.

“And what’s wrong with it?” Jisung exhales tiredly and starts drawing fanciful patterns in his notebook. Always had a calming effect on him.

Jisung doesn’t see the expression on Seungmin’s face but distinctly hears as he lets out a groan. “Easy,” he replies. “You watch him, you get closer, you fall for him, he breaks your heart.”

Jisung’s pen stops in the middle of the pattern, and thick dot splashes all over it. “I won’t fall for him,” Jisung mutters. He looks at the blown up dot on the paper, black and slick, like that small tug in his chest that turned into a thick heavy knot.

For a few seconds Jisung just hears his hitched breathing and background music filling his ears. He also hears as Seungmin mumbles something as well, but it slips away, like Jisung is somewhere under the surface. “Either you’re already too whipped, either too invested in your little project.” Seungmin’s voice finally breaks through, pulling him back in. “You’ve slept four hours.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jisung deadpans.

“That’s what Hyunjin said at the beginning of the year and look at him now,” Seungmin huffs, rolling his eyes. “But really, Jisung, be careful with that. Muse is just a muse for a reason.”

Unlike Jisung, Seungmin rarely displays the acts of affection, being it hugs, kisses, or just skinship. It is usually perceived as cold and distant behavior by others, but, in fact, Jisung constantly feels that he’s being cared about: through subtle gestures and words of worry and compassion that frequently come from Seungmin. And Jisung is thankful.

“Don’t worry, Minnie,” he coos, and Seungmin lets out a light scowl at the nickname, making Jisung laugh. “I’ll be as careful as I can, I promise.”

If only it was something Jisung could have under control.

*

Jisung finds Changbin in the library again: in the same place at the same time.

And today the boy practically shines: sunrays seem to create endearing patterns on his blonde hair, illuminating his face with a warm-golden shade. His clothes are black again, but he still looks like an angel sent from heaven, radiating warmness and beauty that fills the whole premises.

Or maybe Jisung is just biased.

“Oh, you came,” is the first thing that comes out of Changbin’s mouth and no matter how hard he tries to keep a straight face Jisung can’t help but catch a small twist at the corner of his lips, like a half smile. Somehow this makes Jisung oddly relieved and happy. “And here I thought I would work in peace,” he adds to that and Jisung’s heart shudders.

Just a bit, though.

But he quickly collects himself and puts on a bright smile. “Don’t act like you’re saddened by that, Changbin,” Jisung says, occupying the chair in front of him again. Today he brought his laptop so he takes it out of the bag as well, placing it on the table.

He tries to ignore the way his heart jumps at the sound of Changbin’s name on his own tongue.

“Again, I’ve never said that,” the boy shrugs.

“So, you’re implying that you’re happy to see me?”

“Maybe, who knows,” Changbin arches an eyebrow at him but quickly turns his gaze back to the laptop screen.

Jisung thinks it’s obviously flirting, but Seungmin’s words still ring in his ears, making his chest feel heavy. Stupid. “Careful, or I will think you like me,” he says cheekily and Changbin just rolls his eyes, letting out a snort.

Okay, maybe he is just a flirt.

“Artists are pain in the ass,” he replies calmly. “Why would I even bother.”

 _Ouch._ “You’re lucky you look hot because your personality truly sucks,” Jisung mutters to himself but is somehow sure Changbin catches that as he smirks.

After a few more bickers, they fall into somehow familiar working pattern again, mostly followed by silence and irritated sighs and huffs, but interluded by cautiously stolen glances. Jisung sternly stares into a laptop screen with headphones over his head and a pen drawing quaint patterns on the paper. The effects of a sleepless night start taking a toll on him as his head suddenly feels too heavy and he feels as his eyes start hurting from the light.

“Jisung?” He feels consistent tapping on his shoulder, and as Jisung snaps back he sees Changbin leaning over the table. “Are you fine?”

“Yes,” Jisung replies, but is immediately met with a quirked eyebrow and a questioning gaze. “Now what?” He sighs, taking of his headphones.

“You look like you will pass out soon,” Changbin grips his shoulder one more time at last and leans back into his chair. “And those circles under your eyes look quite worrying.”

Jisung grins. “So, you _are_ worried.”

“I’m not.” Changbin rolls his eyes. “Just don’t want you to pass out here so it would be my problem,” he mumbles, but Jisung notes how he keeps his gaze on the ground.

“Just keep doing your techies thing,” Jisung shrugs. “I get inspired from that and may finish this project sooner.”

Changbin lets out a screeching sound and Jisung jumps in his place, taken aback. Then slaps himself in his mind because obviously that is not the best thing to say to a stranger.

Or is he a stranger?

“Techies things, my ass,” Changbin mutters and starts gathering his things. For a moment Jisung heart stops, but Changbin just wavers at him, obviously gesturing to get up as well. “Get up.”

“Huh?”

“Get up,” Changbin repeats, crossing his arms on his chest. “We’re getting you food.”

Jisung blinks rapidly, grasping on a pen in his hand tightly. “Food?”

Changbin groans. “Yes, Jisung, food. Before you actually collapse.”

“Changbinnie is worried~,” Jisung sing songs and immediately yelps as Changbin kicks him on the arm with a scowl.

“Call me Changbinnie one more time and I’ll punch you in the throat.”

Standing up Jisung only now notices how they are, indeed, of the same height, which makes Changbin’s intimidating façade quite endearing. As they leave the library premises and are met with a expectedly windy autumn weather, Changbin also puts on a soft-looking yellow beanie, that contrasts with his dark clothes and blonde hair in a cute way. Jisung lets out a small laugh as they walk side by side, but Changbin just brushes it off, putting both of his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Shut up, it’s cold,” he almost whispers, looking to the ground.

“Bro, I didn’t say anything,” Jisung raises both of his arms as if he’s surrendering and watches as the corner of Changbin’s mouth twist.

The knot in his chest swells.

*

It’s kind of funny how we as humans develop daily routines so easily.

But Jisung is not an organized type of person. His schedules are always shifting, his working patterns are wrecked, he doesn’t even set reminders for important dates and events as he always confuses all the deadlines, trying to deal with the problems on a rolling basis.

Attending library at a certain time after classes is an only constant in his life for now.

Jisung would say that it starts keeping his life in some kind of order, where the musty smell of the books already feels like home, and quietness of surroundings sounds like a melody he never knew he needed.

And the center piece of this picture is Seo Changbin.

Changbin, who never misses a chance to start a small bicker. Changbin, whose demanour is daunting and stark, yet his smile can light up the world in seconds. Changbin, who starts bringing coffee and bagel to the library just because he knows that Jisung didn’t eat, despite it being strongly prohibited.

And Han Jisung utterly and sincerely thinks he is screwed.

“So, what is the muse?” Changbin asks as they take a little a break from work and Jisung tries to convince him of dependability of numerology.

“Dude, you don’t know what a muse is?” Jisung says a bit louder than intended as several students beside start shushing him. “And here I thought you were smart.”

“I _am_ smart,” Changbin rolls his eyes. “Muse is a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist--,”

“Why you all love reciting a freaking Wikipedia,” Jisung groans and the students beside him give a threatening look once again. “Sorry,” he mumbles to them.

“It’s not a Wikipedia.”

“It is,” Jisung huffs. “I know it too well.”

“Fine, okay, doesn’t matter,” Changbin leans on his palm, looking back at Jisung with something the boy can’t yet identify. “What I meant is, what muse means to _you._ ”

Jisung swears he physically feels as his heart drops somewhere down to his stomach, pulsation going through his whole body. His own palms start sweating and suddenly it’s too hot in his light jean jacket. Jisung clears his throat, making sure the trembling in his hands is not visible. “For me, it’s more like a…. _light?_ I mean, you have this tangle of words, emotions and sounds in your head. A muse is kind of a guiding light that helps you to compilate everything in one organized and structured picture,” Jisung sighs. “Well, kind of.”

“So, you want to tell me that just simply staring at me helps?” Changbin arches an eyebrow at him, lips curling into a smirk.

But Jisung doesn’t find this funny at all. Because, honestly, he doesn’t have a reason to come to this stupid library every day, he got the boost he needed and had almost finished the song in two days, and coming here just to see Changbin doesn’t turn the tables at all.

Yet here he is. Every other day of the week. And the tight knot inside makes his heart shudder in pieces, one by one.

Jisung shakes his head and shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s different for everyone.”

“And no feelings attached?”

Low coughing sounds leave Jisung’s body as he chokes on his drink, letting out wheezing noises. “No,” he rasps hoarsely. Denying feels like the best tactic in this situation.

Changbin’s face on the other hand seems to get duller, as smirk falls from his lips and his posture suddenly straightens out as he leans back. “Oh,” he mutters, crossing arms on his chest. “I see.”

Jisung starts panicking even more, opening and closing his mouth like a fish deprived of water. In fact, he really feels like it: gasping for air as his lungs burn while the head is painfully hollow and empty from all the pressure. “What exactly you wanted to hear, Changbin?” He manages to ask, finger stomping under the table creating a flaunty rhythmic pattern.

“Nothing, Jisung,” Changbin purses his lips in a thin line and the light that usually surrounds his whole presence seems to vanish. He looks exactly like the first time they met – stern and fierce, without any signs of softness. “Let’s get back to work.”

Han Jisung thinks he’s stupid.

*

“You are so stupid!” Seungmin stares back at him with disbelief. “Oh my god, sorry for actually doubting that before.”

“What should I have done? Say I like him back?” Jisung bumps his head on the table, feeling as cold surface soothes his overheated forehead.

“At least that!” Seungmin whines. “You could ask him out, ask for his number, kiss him… Seriously, just do anything, Jisung!”

“You told me not to fall for him!”

“You didn’t say he likes you back!”

 _Does he?_ There was this fragile bubble that they managed to build during their oddly comforting library sessions, and Jisung got so used to the thought of Changbin being, in fact, pretty annoyed with him, that he just developed a fear of bursting this bubble, obviously not noticing how Changbin got too scared to burst it himself.

Jisung groans. “I just don’t get him at all.”

“Communication is a key, Jisung,” Seungmin sighs.

“And what if I suck at communicating?”

Seungmin just pinches him on the arm, making Jisung look up and meet his eyes. He taps softly on Jisung’s laptop’s lid. “You wrote a song right?”

“No.”

“Hear me out, for god’s sake,” Seungmin grumbles. “I don’t ask you to sing it demonstratively in front of everyone, or something like that. I don’t even ask you to hand it in in person. I ask you to at least send it to him.”

Jisung actually considers. For a minute.

The he gives up, dropping his head on the table with a loud thump. “I don’t even have his number and you imply that I may know his e-mail.”

“Hyunjin and him were lab partners last year.” Jisung raises up his head in a swift motion. His eyes bug out and mouth lets out a strangled noise. “I got it for you.”

“No way.”

Seungmin smirks, opening Jisung’s laptop and typing swiftly against the keyboard. “I already made a draft.”

“I hate you,” Jisung mutters yet can’t keep himself from smiling.

“You love me,” Seungmin mouths and shows Jisung a prepared draft on the screen. The only thing Jisung has to do is to press ‘send’.

So that what he does.

*

Jisung doesn’t know why he keeps coming to library.

Changbin stopped coming in several days ago, and the only thing that greets Jisung nowadays there is emptiness and bunch of forced fake smiles, making him feel numb and sticky.

At least Changbin never faked a smile.

Jisung tries to convince himself that he comes for quietness and calmness, but deep down inside he knows that it’s a comfortable lie to cover his desperate hope to see a certain someone. He handed in his project days ago, got positive reviews from Chan, which should have made him the happiest person on the planet earth.

Should have, yet it feels like something is missing. Jisung wonders if Changbin even bothered with listening to the song.

Today Jisung decides to walk through the lanes, tracing his wingers along the colourful binding edges of the books. Jisung thinks he could write a song about that, about the pretentious patterns they create on the shelves.

He finishes his route with his and Changbin’s place, looking as empty as never before. The knot in his chest feels heavier and heavier with every passing day and Jisung wonders whether he would ever be able to untie it again.

“Hey.” The voice is familiar. Too familiar with the way his whole body reacts to that one sound.

Changbin is standing there, under the pastel orange lights of the sun, and it’s a déjà vu, as his dark clothes create this paradoxical contrast with his angelic face. “Can I sit here?”

Jisung blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Changbin bites down on his lower lip, trying to contain a smile, which results in small dimples appearing on his cheeks.

Jisung wants to cry from how beautiful he is.

“I said,” he reapeats cheekily. “Can I sit here?”

“Why?” Jisung almost pleads.

Changbin lets out a deep sigh and Jisung watches as he goes to stand beside him, leaning on the back of his chair.

Déjà vu again.

“You see, I have this project,” Changbin’s voice now sounds somewhere close to Jisung’s ear and he starts panicking, holding a breath. “And in order to do this I need a muse.”

_Fucking bastard._

Jisung almost hears the laugh in his voice. “Did you just call me your muse?” Jisung plays along, titling his head to meet Changbin’s eyes. They seem even darker today and Jisung thinks they hold the whole universe.

Changbin smirks and it’s not a soft smirk. “Kind of?” Jisung hears his won words mirroring back at him.

When he starts leaning in Jisung thinks the world disappears, actually vanishes, yet the last strain of sanity manages to kick in. “Wait, can we kiss here? It’s a library?” He whispers almost in his lips.

The answer that Jisung gets is the feeling of soft lips brushing against his own ones. But it’s gone too fast and Jisung starts panicking once again. “I’m sorry, are you sure you--,” Changbin stutters with eyes wide open but Jisung just brushes it off, sighing softly.

“Please.”

Never in his life Jisung have imagined that he would be making out in the library. Yet Changbin’s lips are plump and gentle, pulling him in with a needed fierceness contrasted with softness, and the way his hands get tangled in Jisung’s hair makes his knees go weak and heart swell, as if someone set his insides on fire. And it feels like a whole different dimension, only filled with desperate sighs and heavy breathing.

Unless Jisung lets out a moan. Actual moan.

They pull away and Jisung stares back, utterly startled, covering his mouth with a palm.

And Changbin laughs. _Fucking laughs._

“What’s so funny?” Jisung exclaims but the words are muffled by his hand which makes Changbin laugh even more.

“You,” he gives him one last peck and smiles. “You’re cute, Han Jisung.”

Jisung remembers the heavy knot, that was so tight that almost shattered his heart into pieces. He wondered if he could untie it, to make the shudders go away, to bring his heart peace. Yet now it seems even tighter, but the swelling is pleasant, gentle. Almost like a tight hug.

“Well, I’m your muse, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> [yell at me on twt](https://twitter.com/softouchan)
> 
> hope it managed to cheer you up a bit <3


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